


5 Times Tony Stark Offered an Apology and the 1 Time He Rejected One

by dls



Series: We Were Young Once, Full of Violence (now you're silent, and I'm breathing the cold) [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 5+1, Apologies, Civil War Team Iron Man, Friendship, Gen, Healthy Team Dynamics, New Avengers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pro-Accords, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10126763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/pseuds/dls
Summary: As an Avenger, Tony Stark was always quick to apologize and ready to assume blame. As a New Avenger, however, he was learning that not everything was his fault and there was a sharp difference between a legitimate apology and an empty one.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [izumi2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izumi2/gifts).



> This took _forever_ and was one of the strangest writing experiences I've had. I usually enter a "black out" phase when I write, meaning that while I'm cognizant of the words as I'm writing them, I have no memory of doing so once I stop. So editing is always fun because it's a lot like reading someone else's work. This time, the words and scenes stayed with me and refused to leave me alone which led to lots of restructuring and rewriting. Also, the word count is in the 5 digits now. What is even happening?
> 
> For those interested, here is the recipe for the [steak, spinach and mushroom crepes with balsamic glaze](https://www.halfbakedharvest.com/steak-spinach-mushroom-crepes-balsamic-glaze/).
> 
> Inspired by [izumi2](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/92943617).
> 
> Beta-ed by [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal).

** One. **

James was called to consciousness by an incessant string of his various nicknames.

"Rhodey. Rhodey patootie. Platypus. Sugar bear. Honey bee." Tony held his clasped hands against his forehead, whole body tight with fear and fury. "Come on, James!"

"Falling out of the sky." James said weakly, blinking slowly and taking in his surroundings. The steadily beeping machinery and the sterile air in the room informed him that he was hospitalized. "That's what it takes to get you to use my name?"

Tony's incredulous look of joy settled over James like a well-worn blanket, covering his body in warmth and comfort. Or rather, the upper half of his body. James' heart sunk to his stomach, where it remained because he couldn't feel anything below his abdomen.

"Oh, thank god." Tony pressed the call button once then folded his hands. "I'll call you whatever you want if you can just stay with me for a bit, buddy."

They'd known each other for over half of their lives. Never in their decades of friendship had Tony met a call button and only pressed it once, much to the annoyance of hotel clerks, flight attendants, and medical professionals. Immediately James knew something was horribly wrong. 

"Iron Patriot?" He suggested, falling back to familiar banter and swallowing down the panicked scream when he felt  _nothing_  where his legs should be. 

Tony's lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. "Yeah, anything you want, up to and including absolutely terrible names that make you sound like my sidekick." 

"Your face is the sidekick." 

"Oooh, burn." Tony hissed, grinning openly. 

"No one says that anymore." James rolled his eyes dramatically. 

They both knew that as soon as the swarm of doctors entered the room, the illusion of  _everything is okay_  would be broken. These seconds of teasing might be their last for a good long while. 

Too soon, they were separated by a sea of scrubs and lab coats. Tony set off to talk with Natasha while James learned the extent of his injuries.

*

"I'm sorry." Tony blurted out as soon as the medical team left, the door still swinging to a close. 

"Who isn't?" James mumbled, exhausted and unfocused, listening but not hearing. 

"I am, James. I'm sorry." Tony cringed with each word, as though they physically pained him. "I did this and I know my apology is kind of bullshit because, well, that's who I am, but I am. Sorry, that is."  

Something in his friend's voice penetrated the fog of fatigue and denial. "No, no. Don't even start."  

Tony flinched so violently that he had to steady himself with a hand on the bed frame. "Right, sorry. My damn ego. I'm making this about me and–" 

"Stop." James interrupted, his voice stronger than he felt. "This wasn't you, alright? I'm too tired to get into this now so I'm only going to say it once and you better pay attention." 

"You should get some rest–" Tony started before a stern glare from his friend made him rethink what he was saying. "–after you say whatever you want to say." 

"This wasn't your fault." James paused, waiting for Tony's eyes to meet his before continuing. "I know the risks every time I fly and I've accepted them. So this wasn't your fault and don't you dare go blaming  _my best friend_  for it or I'll punch your lights out. My fists work just fine, got it?" 

Tony reluctantly nodded, utter disbelief warring with desperate relief in his too-wide eyes framed with dark circles.

"Good." James leaned back against the pillows, too many and too fluffy to be standard hospital issue. "You've been making everything about you for years, no point apologizing about it now. I'm used to your ego." He lifted an eyebrow mockingly, taking the sting out of his words. "Kind of like it, actually." 

"Do I need to call the neurosurgeon back in? Maybe someone from psych?" Tony was all lingering uncertainty and hovering guilt, but the lines on his face did ease slightly.

"Yeah, see if you can get us a two for one deal." James snorted, eyes drifting closed and hand finding Tony's, still clenching the bed rail. 

This wasn't the only conversation they'd have about what happened before, at, or after the airport. It would take many more discussions and arguments to untangle the mess they found themselves in, but this was as good a start as any because they were  _talking_. That was more than enough.

*

James woke to Pepper's usually docile voice snapping out a ‘goodbye' that was anything but courteous. 

"What's going on?" He asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

"Something's happened to Tony." Pepper shakily slid her phone back into her pocket. "FRIDAY sent an alert the moment his suit went offline and Vision is heading to Tony's last known location." 

"Where?" Habit made he ask, even though he was in no condition to contribute to the rescue effort. 

"Siberia, of all places." 

"Who was that on the phone?" 

"Ross." Pepper growled, every inch a lioness protecting her pride. "He tried to give me the run-around. He failed." The look in her eyes and the curve of her smile spelled vicious bloodlust. "Let's just say FRIDAY is compiling a  _personalized_  gift for the good general." 

"Remind me not to piss you off." James' feeble attempt to lighten the mood fell flat as they both dreaded what was happening five thousand miles away. 

"At least it's not Afghanistan, right?" Pepper barked out a harsh laugh. 

"Anywhere's better than Afghanistan." James grimaced. "Fuck Afghanistan." 

Later, when FRIDAY uploaded the recordings from the Iron Man suit, beginning with the heavy thud of metal meeting flesh and ending with the sharp clang of flesh ripping metal, James and Pepper revised their previous sentiment. They very quickly came to share a wholehearted hatred for Siberia along with the agreement that Rogers was worse than the Ten Rings with diamond-sharp glints in their eyes. At least the terrorists were honest about who they were and what they wanted. 

*

The leg braces were sleek and beautiful, technical marvels that somehow exuded warmth. Full of life and hope for a better future – like all the things Tony created. 

Tony helped him into them, the metal latching easily and weightlessly, then offered his shoulder as support as James took his first steps since Leipzig. "That's just a first test." 

"Yeah." James said, adjusting to the sensation of weighted floating. The heaviness of his legs were noticeable, a strange contrast as he glided forward with the railing and Tony anchoring him. 

"Give me some feedback. Anything you can think of. Shock absorption. Lateral movement." Tony grinned. "Cup holder?" 

"You may want to think about some AC down there." James smiled at his friend, distracted for only a moment then the handrails ended and the ground appeared. 

Tony was there in an instant, though bending carefully. "Let's go. I'll give you a hand." 

"No, no, don't. Don't help me." James arranged himself into a seated position with effort, but ultimately proud that he was able to do so. 

Tony settled down next to his friend, mindful of his still tender ribs. 

"138." James started, eyes glazed as he relived them. "138 combat missions. That's how many I've flown, Tony. Every one of them could've been my last, but I flew them. To the fight needed to be fought. It's the same with these Accords. I signed because it was the right thing to do." James' glance flicked up, catching Tony's eyes and willing him to believe in these words. "And, yeah, this sucks. This is...this is a bad beat. But it hasn't changed my mind." 

Thankfully, Tony seemed to get the message. At last. They'd had this conversation at least once a day. The topics were different but the theme stayed the same –  _it wasn't your fault_. "You okay?" 

"Oh yeah." To his surprise, James found that he did feel okay. For the first time in months, there was truth in his words.   

Tony was alive. James was almost walking. The Avengers were gone.

All good things, as far as James was concerned. His day was made better when the mailman inadvertently came up with the  _best_  nickname for Tony.

*

The New Avengers' team dinner was at a small, hole-in-the-wall Ethiopian restaurant. The place didn't take reservations but James managed to convince the owner to set a table aside for ten, with a  _special_  sign at a  _select_  location. 

When the team filed in, bumping elbows and turning sideways in the confined space, they were led to a large table by the bathroom. 

"Jim Jam!" Tony shouted, offended and amused, over the raucous laughter from the others. "This is the best and the worst thing you've ever done." 

"I did say I'm never dropping this one." James grinned smugly at the elaborate place card stating ‘ _Reserved for Mr. Stank_ ' and made his way to a chair. "Lucky for you we're all experts at putting up with your stank." 

Tony chuckled, picking up the sign and striking a ridiculous pose. "Lucky me." There was not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. 

** Two. **

Vision found the HYDRA base, neatly camouflaged in the endless field of white, with ease. The coordinates FRIDAY provided landed him outside the entrance. The darkness of the bunker was a relief for his snow-blinded eyes. He spotted the bright Iron Man suit in the dimly lit room effortlessly.

After alerting the medical team of their location, Vision purposely circled around so he could pop his head out by Tony's shoulder. The other man had always appreciated surprises. "Hello there."

"Hey Vis." Tony greeted, a small quirk of a smile at his bloodied lips. "Door's open." 

"Help is on the way." Vision assured as he emerged fully, grasping one gauntleted hand with his own to mimic the gesture of comfort he'd seen in various media sources. "ETA is an hour."

Tony heaved a sigh. "So, what's new with you?" 

Vision understood that the question was a veiled request for a distraction. "I've decided to take on crepes as my next culinary challenge." 

"Ambitious." 

"I am confident in my ability to adhere to the recipe." Vision shifted restlessly. "Improvisation has led to distractions and quite regrettable results." 

"I don't know about that, improv is how I came up with some pretty awesome things." Tony winked playfully before he turned somber. "What happened wasn't your fault. It was an accident." The words felt hollow and Tony wished he could squeeze Vision's hand to ground what he was saying, but without power, the suit was essentially a cage with Tony immobilized inside. 

"Perhaps." Vision hesitated. "Though intent matters little with such dire consequences." 

"Well, you got a point there." Tony winced, mind flashing back to black and white video revealing the truth behind his parents' death. He knew, intellectually, that it wasn't Barnes. Emotionally, however, he just wanted to scream. 

"Yes." 

"Rhodey made it out though, so it's not all  _that_  dire." Tony willed himself to believe that paralysis was better than death because  _it had to be_. Numbness sounded like a pleasant alternative to what he was feeling. "I'm going to close my eyes for a bit, wake me when the cavalry arrives." 

"Of course." Vision hummed. He stared out into the vastness of the deserted bunker, cataloging the damage to the structure and imagining the battle that caused them. Based on his calculations, the Stark medical team should arrive within the next half hour. Tony's breathing was labored but steady, echoing softly in the stillness of Siberia. 

The countdown was at ten minutes when Tony's eyes slammed open, gaze wide but unseeing. A flashback induced panic attack. 

"He killed her. He knew." Tony thrashed fitfully within his metal suit, groaning painfully as he jostled his injured torso. "He knew. He killed her. He knew." 

Vision floundered in the face of an unfamiliar and emotionally charged situation. A memory, an inkling, sparked. Suddenly he knew what to do, what to say. "Hello, Sir." The title confused him, but Vision pressed on. "We are currently in Northern Siberia, where the temperature is twelve degrees and expected to drop to seven degrees when the sun sets at 5:47pm." 

Tony's movements and screams slowed at the first soothing word and ceased all together soon after. "JARVIS?" He mumbled, moisture collecting on his eyelashes quickly turning to ice in the below-freezing temperature.  

Instead of correcting the other man, Vision carried on with the catalog of weather conditions. "Humidity is 89% with chance of snow at 95% throughout the evening. Wind speed is 5mph with snow accumulation of three to five inches." He continued as he felt Tony slowly relax and settle, as he heard the helicopter blades whipping through the air above, and as he helped the medical team transport their patient.

*

Vision updated Pepper and James while the doctors worked to stabilize Tony for travel. He wanted to ask about his sudden interest in becoming a meteorologist, but could not find the words. 

The flight to New York took less than twelve hours, Stark Industries spared no technology nor expense. Pepper and James met them on the roof of Columbia Medical. It was a whirlwind of surgeries, tests, and procedures that left them all drained by the end of the third day. The recommended medically induced coma would last ten days. Vision remained near the private recovery suite for the duration, his lack of need for rest or sustenance proved to be a particular benefit. 

During this time, FRIDAY had retrieved footage and data from the destroyed Iron Man suit. Vision declined to view the videos out of his preference to stay close to Tony. He noted Pepper's blanched pallor and James' clenched fists during their next visit and inquired thusly, their summary and speculations of what transpired in that bunker confirmed Vision's own suspicions when he inspected the structural damage. 

Captain America and The Winter Soldier – fighting not for the liberty of all, but for the freedom of one – defeated then deserted Iron Man in hostile territory. Vision wondered, bleakly, if his heart was breaking.

*

Two weeks after their return from Siberia, the doctors weaned Tony off of the chemicals encouraging the recuperative slumber. With the promise to return within the next hour, the medical staff exited the room, leaving Vision, James, and Pepper hovering anxiously by Tony's bedside. 

Tony broke through the sluggishness of sleep and immediately felt the intense pressure within his chest. His eyes opened with a gasp, remembering his chest had been crushed by someone he'd considered a friend wielding a shield crafted by his father. His  _murdered_  father. His murdered  _parents_. Tony's vision blurred, heart thudding frantically and muscles seizing painfully.

"Tones?" James called amidst the cacophony of angry beeping from the various machines.

"Tony!" Pepper was on her feet in an instant, pressing the call button with precise and rapid jabs. 

Vision felt, more than knew, when his instincts took over again. "Good afternoon, Sir. You are in room 905 on the ninth floor in the Milstein Hospital Building, which is a part of the Columbia University Medical Center located in New York City. It is a well-regulated 67 degrees." He heard the two sharp gasps but chose to concentrate on his current task. "Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes are on your right. To your left, there is a lovely view of the Hudson River." 

Tony calmed gradually, lengthening his inhales and exhales before turning his face left only to find the blinds drawn. "I was promised a view." 

"View's better over here." Pepper sniffed, aiming for offended but settling on relieved. "Jackass." 

Tony cracked a tired smile as he faced his friends. "Miss me?" 

The horde of doctors stampeded into the room then, shattering the fragility of the moment and halting any further conversation. They left as abruptly as they came, once assessments were done and charts were updated. Apparently Tony's reputation as a patient was infamous enough that the doctors treaded with extreme caution. 

"Nap time for me." Tony immediately tried to pull the blanket over his face, struggling mightily as the sides were tucked securely under the mattress and his arms were weak from disuse. 

"You just woke up." James did his best to level a stern stare at his friend. "Tony, we need to talk." 

Tony's response was a truly pitiful whine. 

"Not now, of course." Pepper brushed a kiss on Tony's forehead, huffing a laugh against his skin. "Later." 

Tony frowned. "Never is better than later." 

"Later is better than now." James pointed out. 

"No fair ganging up on me, but at least you aren't super soldiers." Tony seemed to realize what he had accidentally revealed, because he hastily exaggerated his pout and whimpered. "My ribs hurt. Questions hurt my ribs." 

"Fine, we'll go get some coffee." Pepper smiled angelically. "And bring it back to drink it in front of you." 

Tony glared sullenly. 

"I can use some coffee." James said. 

"Vision can keep you company." With that, they left the room. 

"Huh, that was easier than I thought." Tony muttered to himself, eyeing Vision with suspicion. "Though this still has the potential to be ominous. I guess they want us to talk about what just happened-" 

"You called me JARVIS." Vision started, skipping the preamble and cutting straight to the heart of the matter. "In Siberia." 

"I did?" Tony dropped his blanket in shock. "Damn it." 

"Yes, after I related the weather conditions to you during what I perceived to be a panic attack." Vision clarified. "I do not know what possessed me to do so then, nor do I know why I did so again just now." 

Tony cleared his throat. "That was something JARVIS used to do, sorry about that, and um, for calling you JARVIS." He fixed his gaze on the still obscured window. "I know you aren't JARVIS, no one can be JARVIS except JARVIS. He was one of a kind, in the best ways. My guess is that some his residual codes kicked into overdrive when I freaked out, we can probably find a way to mute them somehow. Anyway, I'm sorry, won't happen again, let's just drop it." 

"On the contrary." Vision said slowly, enunciating each word with intent. "I would like to hear more about JARVIS and also Ultron. I'd like to learn more of my ancestry. I envy those capable of receiving answers from that informative television series." He floated over and opened the blinds, the sunshine warmed the slightly chilly room.  

"You...what?" Tony sputtered, brain overwhelmed with the wealth and randomness of the data input. "I didn't think you'd want to hear about JARVIS, and um, Ultron." He remembered the Avengers' comments when Vision first joined their ranks:  _Don't mention JARVIS, your artificial servant. Don't mention Ultron, your homicidal robot. Vision is none of them, you cannot take credit for him. Vision is worthy of Mjolnir, you are not._  

"Whyever not? I know I am neither, but I find myself curious of my origins." Vision tapped the mind stone in his forehead. "This will likely remain a mystery but I believe two-thirds of a puzzle offers more than none." 

Tony gaped for nearly thirty seconds before he found his voice. "Um, yeah, I guess. If you want." A beat of silence. "Wait, were you talking about Who Do You Think You Are?"

"A most enlightening and educational series." Vision smirked. "And I hope my one question, however rhetorical, did not hurt your ribs." 

*

James and Pepper returned with four cups of coffee – one decaf because they weren't cruel enough to torment Tony after a medically induced coma, but they also knew better than to give him caffeine, because of said medically induced coma. 

"Hey, good timing." Tony greeted them, extending an expectant hand for his drink. "I knew you guys loved me." 

Pepper handed it over with an affectionate eye roll. "What have you boys been up to?" 

"You know, I can tell this is decaf." Tony sniffed his coffee experimentally before taking a small sip and shooting her a look of utter outrage though his pleased grin undermined the effect. "I was just telling Vision about when JARVIS first came online." 

James' eyes widened as the gravity of the situation hit him. Pepper had a similar look of shock. Tony hadn't talked about JARVIS since Sokovia, their attempts to do so were deflected quickly or hushed sternly. When they had pressed the issue, Tony had mumbled something about Rogers' disapproval before disappearing into his workshop for days and leaving it absolutely wrecked when he emerged. They hadn't mentioned it since, recognizing Tony's particular brand of avoidance and trusting him to come to them when he was willing, like he had done eventually regarding his experience – such a mild word for  _missing presumed dead_  – in Afghanistan. 

Pepper recovered first. "Want to hear about the first time I met JARVIS?" 

"Please." Vision nodded gratefully. 

So they settled in, comfortable though a bit cramped on the queen-size hospital bed, and traded their favorite JARVIS stories until the nurse returned to check on Tony's vitals and looked severely unimpressed when she found the empty coffee cup under his pillow.

** Three. **

"Welcome home, Dr. Banner." FRIDAY chimed pleasantly. "The others are in the kitchen." 

"Thanks FRIDAY." Bruce resisted the urge to smooth the wrinkles on his shirt. He had just landed from a transatlantic flight and had no one to impress but the old habit lingered. "What's for dinner?" 

"Savory crepes prepared by Vision. I assisted in his research and I dare say you are in for quite a treat." 

Bruce felt his salivary glands react and heard his stomach rumble. He picked up his pace, nearly jogging into the open kitchen. 

"Welcome back, Bruce." Vision smiled, pausing briefly in his culinary efforts and earning an impatient huff from Tony. "Dinner's almost ready." 

Other than Tony, Bruce spent most of his time at the tower with Vision. Though it had not always been the case. Before his self-imposed exile following Sokovia, Bruce's previous interactions with Vision had been limited to either as The Hulk in battle or in a group setting, which meant their relationship was distant at best. 

Tony, of course, set out to change that in a rather characteristic manner.

*

Bruce did not expect to find Vision in Tony's workshop when he came down for a consult. 

"Hey, Jolly Green!" Tony waved to him over the wall of holograms. "I need that big, beautiful brain of yours." 

Bruce's easy grin froze when he recognized the interface and design schematics on display. Ultron. 

Tony carried on as though they weren't staring at the genesis of  _their_  murderous artificial intelligence. "I can't quite remember why we weren't able to create an intelligence level suitable without the scepter, most likely because I repress anything less than complimentary to my genius–" 

"Tony!" Bruce snapped and shut his eyes when his vision became a sea of green. "What the hell is going on?" 

"Dr. Banner, Tony has kindly offered to help me on my journey of self-discovery. I am not JARVIS, I am not Ultron, and the gem is still a mystery yet a part of me. Not knowing is fatiguing and I simply want to  _know_." Vision explained in a measured tone. 

Bruce counted his breaths, almost panting in his efforts. He forced his mind to focus, to process, what Vision had said. Of course Vision would want to know where he came from, the desire and question of  _meaning_  were universal. It simply hadn't occurred to Bruce that Vision would feel the same drive as humans, a kind of callous thoughtlessness that troubled and shamed him. 

It was another example of him running away from a problem, one he was still running from in fact. Ultron was an open wound, one Tony and Bruce treated with wishful thinking that avoidance and time would be enough.

They lived in a world where wishes rarely came true. 

Suddenly, Bruce recognized what Tony was trying,  _hoping_ , to do. A chance to heal, to rebuild, and to create something positive. He had abandoned Tony in the aftermath of Sokovia, leaving his friend to shoulder the tremendous financial burden, the unmitigated blame, and the unimaginable pain of hearing JARVIS' voice from someone who  _wasn't_  JARVIS. Bruce had been so blinded by his need to escape that he had missed Tony's grief. 

_ No more _ . 

Opening his eyes with resolve, Bruce approached the pair with a deliberate sort of ease. "Sounds like we're going to be here a while, so why don't you call me Bruce?"

*

"Brucie Bear!" Tony called out happily, but instead of invading Bruce's personal space Tony stayed posted next to Vision, who was constructing a crepe stuffed with slices of medium-rare filet, sautéed mushrooms, and chopped spinach. "How was your flight?" 

"Not too bad, I slept through most of it." 

"That's what she said." Tony sniggered, offering his plate to Vision expectantly and stealing a piece of steak. 

"Then you're doing it wrong." 

Tony made a muffle sound of delight as he chewed the food in his mouth. 

Bruce settled in at one of the bar stools. "Dinner smells amazing." 

"Thank you. It's a crepe filled with steak, spinach and mushroom, then topped with a pat of blue cheese butter and a balsamic glaze." Vision said, drizzling said glaze over the artfully folded crepes then sliding them onto Tony's plate. "I've been experimenting, um, improvising a bit." 

Tony winked warmly before he practically inhaled half of the contents of his plate. Bruce launched into an exaggerated plea for his own dinner. Vision obliged happily, ducking his head in a shy but pleased manner at the reception of his cooking. 

Conversation ceased and the only noises in the kitchen were muted sounds of chewing, clinking of plates and utensils, and the near silent shuffle as Vision assembled more crepes. Which made the thunderous boom from the balcony all the more startling. 

"Did you bring me a thunder god as souvenir?" Tony slanted a glance at Bruce. "You shouldn't have." 

"Your texts demanding gifts say otherwise." Bruce deadpanned. "So I found you the flashiest deity, only the best for my science bro." 

FRIDAY opened the glass door as Thor strode in with Mjolnir in hand and clad in civilian clothing. "Greetings, shield brothers!" His grin was as infectious as ever. 

"Point Break, what brings you by? Actually, ignore that. Have you eaten? What am I saying, you always have room for more. Well, join us and have a bite of this absolute perfection Vision created." Tony babbled, ushering Thor to the kitchen with an almost manic eagerness. 

Thor beamed as he breathed in the delicious aroma and found a seat at the counter. "You are a most generous host, friend Tony. I much look forward to this meal, as I have every meal I shared with my honorable shield brothers." 

"Excellent!" Tony gave a thumbs up, the grin on his face wide and strained. 

Vision slid over a plate of crepes wordlessly before firing up the stove to prepare more servings. Bruce placed a tentative hand on Tony's shoulder, a silent check-in. Tony shrugged it off. 

"Enjoy your dinner. I'm off to, um, somewhere." Tony shuffled into the elevator. "We can catch up in the morning with all the pop tarts you could ever want." A clear delay strategy and an obvious bribe. 

Thor didn't seem to notice, his attention fixed entirely on the crepes. "I bid you good night." 

Bruce made his way to his room soon after, knowing that Vision didn't require rest and FRIDAY would direct Thor to a guest suite. 

The only one who slept peacefully that night was Thor.

*

The next morning, Bruce found Thor and Tony at the dining table and surrounded by a startling number of empty pop tart boxes. 

"–and that was how the United Nations came about." Tony summed up with a clap of his hands. 

"Morning." Bruce made his way over to his tea collection. 

"Your explanation is sound but it does not explain what transpired in my absence." Thor frowned, opening another box of pop tarts and brushing crumbs onto the floor in a clear demonstration of what Asgardians considered to be cleaning. 

"I'm getting to that. You have to go back to the beginning to see the big picture, Fabio." 

"Ah yes. My dear Jane expressed similar thoughts when she enlightened me on your country's struggle for equality for all of its people. Please continue." 

Tony and Bruce shared a stunned look. Thor's easy acceptance and willingness to listen were as unexpected as his visit. 

Bruce joined them a mug of chamomile tea in hand, sitting down next to Tony and bumping his elbow against his friend's in a show of support. "Let's talk about Sokovia."

*

Their conversation, though grim, was productive. 

Thor, despite his naive mannerisms and cheerful appearance, picked up on the nuances of politics and understood the necessity of accountability at a surprising speed. "The Accords was meant to quiet the fears of Midgardians and alleviate tensions between your world's countries after a series of destruction that laid waste to your lands?" 

Bruce nodded, standing to prepare his fifth cup of tea. 

"Captain Rogers cited his distrust of your United Council, his disagreement over the punishment assigned to the Scarlet Witch, and his desire to protect his childhood friend as reasons to decline?" 

"Bingo. You're pretty good at this, Hammer Time." 

"I cannot take all the credit." Thor set down the pop tart, he had been devouring them like potato chips. "My mother had assigned extensive readings and reports when I returned home after my exile. Her words still inform me to this day." 

"Sounds like the kind of woman I'd like to meet." Tony winced when he caught the flirtatious undertone. "Um, respectfully meet." 

"I appreciate your sentiment all the same." Thor chuckled before sobering. "Your accounts bring sense to the exile imposed on Captain Rogers and his comrades but not to the broken bonds of brotherhood among you all. Ideological disagreements do not tend to leave wounds like these." 

Bruce hurried back, tea forgotten on the kitchen counter. 

Tony took a deep breath, hand instinctively reaching up to cover his chest where the arc reactor used to be. "I may have reacted badly when I got some bad news in Siberia." His eyes dulled. "See, it turned out that the Winter Soldier carried out a kill order against my parents and I lashed out about as predictably as you can imagine. Rogers didn't like that and well, I didn't like that he kept it from me." 

Silence settled heavily over them. 

"I watched my mom die–" Tony's voice caught on a stifled sob. "–with her killer standing next to me. That is not something I can forgive." He rubbed a tense hand over his eyes, traces of moisture glistened on his fingers. "Shit, sorry. I'm being emotional." 

Bruce sucked in a pained breath as he remembered the countless times when the Avengers had commented disparagingly about Tony's childish, oversensitive, or egotistical behaviors. He himself had made similar remarks when Tony locked himself away in his workshop, unable to ‘get over' their latest mission. What kind of teammates,  _human beings_ , would ridicule another's emotional pain to the extent that drove said person to seek isolation? To the point where they justified carrying on when their target was out of sight? To believe their actions to be good and supportive? Bruce's chair crumbled as the Hulk made his appearance with a protective growl.

Thor cast a wary glance at the Hulk but turned his attention back to Tony. "No apology needed, friend Tony. It is your right to faithfully respond to your loss. I, too, know the pain of losing one's mother. Her absence still weighs heavily on my heart." 

Tony's gaze snapped up to Thor, mouth opening to either offer his condolences for his loss or gratitude for understanding, or both, but no words came because the Hulk chose that moment to envelope both in a crushing hug. 

"Hulk hug! Hulk make better!" 

The embrace lasted nearly a minute before Tony managed to wiggle out of it and thereby allowing Thor room to free himself as well. 

"Many thanks, friend Banner." Thor laughed while Tony reveled in the joy of breathing unrestricted again. 

The Hulk smiled happily and padded over to the balcony, picking splinters out of the tattered remains of his pants along the way. 

"I believe I have solved the mystery of the cutoffs." Thor mused, before turning solemn. "I cannot persuade you to repair your brotherhood nor is it my place. I can only wish you peace and protection in your future endeavors, Man of Iron." 

"Thanks, and you'd have a thriving career at Hallmark." Tony said drily. "What's next for you?" 

"I should like to visit Lady Jane." Thor hesitated. "But I fear that I have caused difficulties with my travel to your tower already." 

"Don't worry about it, a clause for intergalactic immunity was added after your first email. Sign before you head out and you'll be covered." Tony chuckled. "I'm actually impressed that you emailed." 

"This email is a small step into this world of interweblinks." Thor intoned. "I've learned much but have much to learn still." 

"Interweblinks." Tony snorted, shaking his head. "You know, you'd also make a killing writing fortune cookie inserts."

"A most enjoyable treat." Thor roared mightily. 

"It's decided then, Chinese for dinner." Tony rose to his feet as well. "FRIDAY, make it happen." 

"Done, Boss."

"I thank you for your hospitality." Thor beamed. "I shall take my leave of you for now, both you and Friend Banner look like you can use a spot of rest."  

"See you at dinner." Tony waved.

*

The Hulk was sprawled out in the shade, looking content. "Looks like it's just me and you now, big guy. Want to go somewhere or just hang here?" 

"Here is good. Hulk comfy and Banner tired." 

"Fair enough." Tony made himself comfortable on one of the lounge chairs. "I could use a nap after the morning we've had." 

A breeze brushed over them gently as they drifted off to sleep.

** Four. **

After a grueling day of training and simulations, several of the New Avengers stumbled into the compound's open kitchen to the welcoming sight of Tony unloading boxes of take-out onto the oversized dining table. 

With the new additions to their roster, the compound was finally being utilized as a base of operations though none of them lived there. Tony, Vision, James, and Bruce resided at the tower, preferring to keep their private lives somewhat separate. Stephen, Peter, Jessica, Hope, and their latest member, Jessica, all had their own homes and individual preferences. 

Gone were the days of a superhero team sharing a living space as a way to forcedly build rapport, yet another aspect that separated the New Avengers from the original. They were formed in a more organic way, being friends as well as teammates instead of the awkwardness of teammates, brought together under extreme duress to thwart an alien invasion and avenge a set of bloodied cards, trying to be friends. 

"Mr. Stark!" Peter rushed toward the older man, one hand reaching into the breadsticks bag and the other meeting Tony's high five seamlessly. "I mean, Tony."

"Wash your hands first." Tony chided, half-heartedly wondering when his days of eating with motor oil covered hands had ended. 

Shrugging sheepishly, Peter bounced off to the sink and waited impatiently behind Jessica, who was lathering her hands with drawn out motions clearly meant to torment the ravenous appetite of a teenager. 

Stephen set out the plates and dinnerware, nodding a greeting to Tony. "Will you be staying for dinner?" 

Tony paused. He hadn't spent a lot of time at the compound before this so-called Civil War and even less after it. For all the time and energy he poured into its architecture and amenities, Tony never felt like he belonged here. There was a place for a lap pool, a theater, and even a ‘room of requirement' – a joke no one appreciated – but no room for Tony. He felt raw and exposed to be in the building where he had been told very clearly that he was not welcome. More than once, Tony had dropped by bearing favorite meals only to be told by Steve, patronizingly, that Tony should not stay because it would negatively affect team morale. 

"Yeah, why not." Tony wasn't planning to stay but he should get to know their newest member, Jessica Jones, a friend of Matt's. Not to mention Tony hadn't seen Peter in a few days and Stephen in longer than that. 

Tony smiled when he noticed Stephen had already arranged a place setting for him before he gave his answer. That realization soothed some of the ache from previous team dinners where Tony had to scavenge for an extra plate or seat because they had assumed he'd remain in the workshop. Granted, Tony had missed his share of team dinners while they lived at the tower, but it would have been nice to know they had a spot for him instead of him carving one out for himself. In hindsight, maybe they simply hadn't wanted him there. 

"Great." Stephen was already seated and helping himself to a large serving of the salad. 

"Smells good, thanks Tony." Jessica settled in as Tony uncovered the three large containers of pasta.  

Peter joined them with a glass of water in hand. "You're the best, Mr. Tony. Tony." 

Stephen covered his laugh with an ill-disguised cough. 

"Yeah, no problem." Tony fidgeted, then made a conscious effort to stop. These small gestures and words of gratitude still caught him off guard at times. He pointed at each container. "Rigatoni alla Carbonara. Trenette al Pesto al Pesto. Bucatini all'Amatriciana." Italian felt natural on his tongue. A warmth blossomed in his chest as he recalled his mother's gentle voice, which made Jessica's cold glare all the more severe by contrast. 

Jessica's relaxed posture vanished and was replaced by a sort of defensive aggression. She stared at the last dish as though it was something much more sinister than noodles with fancy tomato sauce. 

"Jessica?" Stephen asked, immediately picking up the shift in the room. "What's wrong?" 

She closed her eyes and recited a list of street names under her breath. "That's Kilgrave's standard one-month anniversary dish." 

Silence fell around the table, eyes cautious and understanding. 

The New Avengers were familiar with the mind-controlling, and thankfully deceased, villain who had haunted New York. They knew that Jessica had caught Kilgrave's attention and that revenge had been her primary reason to put a stop to his reign of terror. No one faulted her for it; vengeance, much like regret, was a powerful motivator – they all understood that a bit too well. 

Their team was still coming together, learning each other's abilities and personalities along with histories and triggers. Moments like these were unavoidable. 

"Fuck." Tony and Jessica shouted angrily at the same time. 

They looked up at one another, then grimaced simultaneously. "Sorry." 

"I'll just go." Tony stumbled back a step as Jessica pushed to stand, echoing the same words. 

"Wait, what?" They stared blankly at each other, yet another unintended coordination. "What the fuck?" And another. 

Peter barely stifled a laugh. Stephen chuckled. Jessica's own lips twitched in what looked like a grin. 

Tony did not notice nor share their mirth. He placed the take-out lid back on the pasta dish, as though it could contain whatever trauma it already unleashed. "I, um." He glanced up, and Jessica made a zipping motion across her lips with a smirk. "I'm sorry. I didn't know, er, your history with this. Shit. I'm sorry. Damn it." 

Jessica looked stunned, a myriad of emotions flickered over her face before it settled on exasperation. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm the one who flipped her shit." 

"No." Tony looked heartbreakingly contrite. "I fucked up. I ordered this." 

"No." Jessica returned, the absurdity of the situation fully shook her out of her flashback. "You didn't know. Stop saying sorry for shit you didn't know." 

"I always say sorry for shit I don't know, it's my thing!" Tony yelled, slamming his fist down on a bag of unsuspecting breadsticks, flattening most of them. 

Peter let out a pained whine, feeling the loss personally. 

"Well, find a new thing." Jessica kicked her chair back as she jumped to her feet. "Your thing sucks." 

"I second that opinion." Stephen said. 

Peter raised a hand hesitantly, still in mourning. "Me three." 

Tony stuttered, clearly at a loss. "What's happening?" 

Stephen sighed, somewhere between amused and sympathetic. "Nothing is happening other than a much deserved meal at the end of a long day."  
  
"Stop assuming everything's your fault." Jessica stated. "It's bullshit." 

Tony had a look of concentrated confusion on his face that Peter secretly referred to as the 'buffering' look. "I order this." He pointed at the Bucatini all'Amatriciana. "It triggered some unpleasant memories for you." He nodded toward Jessica. "But you're saying it's not my fault?" He pointed a finger at himself. 

"Pretty much, genius." Jessica shrugged. "If you want to blame anyone, blame Kilgrave. I do." 

"Oh." Tony sounded lost, sinking down in his chair. 

Stephen resisted the urge to snap his fingers to get his friend's attention. "Everything's fine." He reassured. 

Peter eyed the flattened breadsticks woefully but wisely held back his comment. 

Stephen turned his attention to their newest teammate. "Would you prefer another dish or cuisine, Jessica?" 

Jessica pondered this, staring intently at the still steaming dishes on the table. "Nah. I'm good." She decided. "Now when I see it, all I can think about is our Freaky Friday moment." 

Tony came back to himself with a squawk. "You can be Lindsay Lohan, I'm Jamie Lee Curtis." 

"Well, she is the older one." Stephen smirked. 

Tony maturely responded to the slight by kicking Stephen under the table. 

"Seriously though, thanks." Jessica offered, humor intertwined with relief in her tone. "It's nice to take another thing back from that sick purple bastard." 

Instinctively, Tony denied his contribution. "I didn't do anything, it's all you." 

"If you're going to take credit for indirectly screwing up, then you better take credit for indirectly fixing things too." Jessica slanted a mild glare toward Tony. "Got it?" 

"You're not supposed to tell me what to do, I'm the mom here." Tony retorted. 

Jessica eyed him skeptically. "You sure about that? I think you're the bratty daughter trapped in the mom's body." 

"What are you even talking about? Is that another old movie?" Peter whined. 

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Thanks for making us all feel old, Peter." 

"On that cheery note, let's eat!" Tony clapped his hands together. "Unless there are more comments, concerns, questions?" 

"Can we order more breadsticks?" Peter asked pitifully, bringing everyone's attention to the neglected and crushed bag at last. 

"Sure thing, Underoos." Tony laughed, a clear and joyous sound filling the compound and chasing away ghosts of the past.

** Five. **

When T'Challa offered sanctuary to Barnes, it was a singular offer made to a specific person. He thought his intentions were clear and Rogers understood them because the super soldier left, politely requesting use of a private jet, soon after Barnes entered cryogenic sleep. 

_ If they find out he's here, they'll come for him.  _ _  
_Then, let them try._ _

T'Challa hadn't meant for his words to be taken as an invitation nor a request for additional defense, but Rogers evidently took them as such because he returned a week later with four of the most wanted criminals - Wilson, Barton, Lang, and Maximoff – in tow.

With a strained smile, T'Challa directed them to an unoccupied wing of the palace before retiring to his study to assess and strategize. 

*

His father, King T'Chaka, had intended for The Accords to promote accountability through cooperation and communication. Idealistic, yes. Realistic, no. T'Challa had questioned his father's naivety, a quality unfitting for a king. 

"The world changes when we occupy the space between idealism and realism." T'Chaka had said. "To build a better future with the existing tools of the present." 

The Accords was conceptualized in the ruins of New York, outlined in the aftermath of Sokovia, and drafted in the wake of Lagos. The driving forces behind such an encompassing document were fueled by outrage, fear, and loss. It was unsurprising when the Accords skewed toward control instead of balance. 

T'Chaka had ruefully shared his disappointment with T'Challa, lamenting that a world reeling from tragedy was not inclined to be merciful and positing that pushback would be inevitable even as they made their way to Vienna. More tragedies followed. Austria. Romania. Germany. Siberia. 

This was where T'Challa found himself, in the middle of a truly spectacular mess built on a long series of regrettable mistakes and missed opportunities. 

_ Mistakes are opportunities to learn. _

T'Challa had been searching for an opening to reshape the scope of the Accords and define Wakanda as one of the most powerful nations in the world. Rogers' latest thoughtless action provided Wakanda with the perfect cause and gave T'Challa the necessary leverage.

*

T'Challa alerted the United Nations immediately of the former Avengers' whereabouts, a gesture of cooperation and good will. A video conference with representatives from the majority of the 117 countries in attendance was scheduled within the hour. 

Hiding a smile behind his steepled hands, T'Challa listened patiently as nations that had previously boasted their military prowess fell silent when presented with the challenge at hand. No one wanted to take on the daunting task of apprehending, transporting, and confining the former Avengers, not when the memories of ruined buildings, destroyed roadways, and a broken Iron Man were still fresh. 

"Ladies and gentlemen." T'Challa spoke, deep and commanding. "I may have a simple solution to our problem." 

The buzzing voices quieted down instantly. 

"The Avengers cannot be allowed to roam free, yet as the break in at the Raft proved, they take drastic measures when faced with the threat of imprisonment. These, however, are not our only options. I hereby propose a third choice – Wakanda will house the fugitives." He continued over the roar that erupted. "They will not attempt to escape when they believe they have found sanctuary and are treated with appropriate accommodations." 

They came to an agreement speedily after T'Challa's announcement, expressing gratitude and suspicion in equal parts – thankful for Wakanda's sacrifice but apprehensive about what T'Challa wanted in return. 

"My father contributed significantly to the Accords. He believed in a world of balance instead of control. To honor his vision, I'd like to propose amendments to the Accords that will help us achieve that goal." T'Challa explained. "Our citizens distrust not only these criminals but also their governments." General Ross had been arrested two days prior, after anonymous dockets were delivered to the United Nations, those in support of The Accords, and all major news outlets. "This is our opportunity to correct that. What say you?" 

As T'Challa expected, the answer was a unanimous yes. 

*

T'Challa's next call was to New York. 

"Ms. Potts." 

"Your Highness." She greeted, polite and detached. "I apologize for the wait, FRIDAY only alerted me of your call half an hour ago. I hope your recent trip to Siberia was enjoyable." 

T'Challa winced. This would not be a friendly conversation. She purposely delayed answering his call and offered an empty apology with no justification. She had not inquired about the nature of the call, a clear power play to delineate who needed who. She was multitasking, evidenced by the faint tapping in the background. It had been years since T'Challa was treated with such blatant disrespect. Yet he couldn't fault her for it. Not when he still blamed himself for neglecting to ascertain Iron Man's welfare before rushing away to appease his guilty conscience regarding Barnes. 

"I will keep this brief, given the hectic nature of our lives." He said amicably, unable to resist one small retort for his time wasted. "I'm calling to inform you of some strays that had wandered into Wakanda. I plan to keep them corralled rather than sending them to the pound or returning them to the wild." 

The tapping stopped. "I didn't know you're an animal lover, Your Highness." 

"A reluctant one. I'll take a DigiPet over these smelly animals. I imagine Mr. Stark feels similarly given his fondness for robotics." 

"I actually have no idea if Tony ever had a DigiPet. Maybe that's something you can discuss with him." Pepper chuckled, the icy demeanor thawing with T'Challa's clear declaration of his stance. "Do be careful though, feral animals can appear domesticated for a time then attack when you least expect it." 

"Noted." T'Challa replied. "Please know that Wakanda and I are praying for Mr. Stark's recovery." 

"Thank you." 

As he ended the call, T'Challa made a note to stay on that woman's good side.

*

A month after Siberia, and roughly two weeks since the media went into a frenzy over Tony being discharged from the hospital, T'Challa received a call. Or rather, a call found him when Tony's voice rang out from television in his study.  

"Hello, kitty." Tony winked at the camera. He looked both rested and fatigued. "Hello Kitty, ha." 

"Mr. Stark. I'm pleased to see you're still with us." 

Tony shrugged. "Eh, whatever. Tell me what's happening in your jungle." 

T'Challa's eyes narrowed as he considered the request. It was casual, vague, and distinctly not a question. It was a test. He could respond with trivial updates but T'Challa knew that was not the correct answer. "I took in some strays, as I'm sure Ms. Potts had informed you. They are adjusting well to their new pseudo-domesticated life, though one of them has issues with the new climate and requires a bit of cooling." 

"He's back under?" A series of emotions flashed over Tony's face – shock, relief, anger, regret, pain. 

"Barnes is back in cryogenic sleep by his own choice." Sensing it was time to drop the pretense and trusting FRIDAY's ability to keep their calls private, T'Challa confirmed. 

"How did–" Tony cleared his throat, unconsciously crossing his arms protectively over his chest. "–Rogers take it?" 

"I suspect some separation anxiety, probably why he went out and fetched himself some more friends." 

Tony nodded absently. The space behind him suddenly looked too big and empty. "Thanks for cleaning up my mess, and, um, sorry for making the mess in the first place." 

"Mr. Stark–" 

"No, really. I could have tried harder, listened more, used smaller words." Tony snorted. "Or sent somebody they didn't hate." 

"I doubt any of that would have made a difference." T'Challa deadpanned. "Animals cannot understand human speech." 

Tony's laugh was sudden and surprised. "You got some claws, Lion King. And also a point somewhere underneath that cattiness." Perhaps being superhumans did mean disconnection from humanity.

"Panther king, actually." T'Challa corrected, grinning genuinely. 

"Whatever, Simba." A series of clicking and tapping. "Well, I've read the amendments you proposed and they're not bad but I have some ideas and languages I'd like to throw in." 

T'Challa arched an eyebrow. "Somethings tells me you've already thrown them in." He grabbed a tablet and the file was already opened and littered with red. He winced. "It looks like it's bleeding." 

"Bleeding with awesomeness, you mean." 

"Entirely subjective." 

"Fine, fine." Tony muttered over another sequence of clicks and clacks. "Better?" He cackled. 

T'Challa almost dropped the device when the previously red font turned to bright pink and every period turned to the face of Hello Kitty. "Not in the least." He said, completely aghast. "You cannot expect me to be productive when I can't even bear to look at it." 

"Well, you didn't know how good you had it until it's gone." Tony sniggered as he reversed the neon pink atrocity, but then he turned somber. "It can always get worse." 

"The inverse is also true, you may not know how bad it was until it's gone." T'Challa offered softly. "It can get better. We can make it better." 

For several minutes, Tony stared at a point beyond T'Challa shoulder, likely where the camera was mounted. He did feel relieved that the Avengers were gone, at least for now, and breathed a bit easier when he stopped trying – and failing – to protect them from themselves. "I guess we'll see. Let's get started, Felix."

*

Their next conversation was brief and focused primarily on intergalactic immunity. T'Challa refrained from discussing his unwanted guests and Tony remained quiet about the reason for this discussion.

*

Tony had a brilliant mind and a caustic sense of humor that protected his vulnerable heart. The more time T'Challa spent working with the man, the more confounded he became at the vitriol spewed by Barton. When Ayo gleefully informed him that she had sent the archer practice equipment, T'Challa nodded approvingly. 

People who harmed his friend would not receive any favors.

*

"We had an uninvited visitor today." 

Tony acknowledged with a distracted hum, attention diverted by two other sets of holographic screens in his workshop. "I imagine you get lots of those. Did this one bring a present at least? Some catnip or a dead bird?" 

"Yes and no." T'Challa chuckled. "She arrived empty-handed but her presence itself is quite a gift. The Black Widow may just be the catalyst we need when the time comes." 

"Romanoff is in Wakanda?" Tony's gaze snapped to T'Challa's. 

"Indeed. She is resting comfortably in her cell at the moment." 

Tony looked briefly concerned then silenced whatever inquiry about her capture or welfare with a hard swallow. "She'd do, I suppose." He mused. "We still need to get the amendments ratified and the individual contracts can use another pass, that'll be a month at least. Can you hold her for that long? She tends to skitter away in the dark of the night." 

"The spider is caught in her own web and will remain so for the foreseeable future." T'Challa explained. "She is on a misguided quest to make amends and her capabilities and emotions are severely compromised." 

The words hit Tony like another shield to the chest. Romanoff was seeking forgiveness from  _Rogers_ , the man she had betrayed Tony for when she let him and Barnes go, instead of  _Tony_. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity and scream at yet another knife sinking into his back, but he settled on a weary sigh. "I leave it in your entirely capable paws, Your Highness."

*

Shuri joined them at their next call, her presence effectively reduced their productivity by half though neither T'Challa nor Tony minded. 

FRIDAY was delighted to have another female's perspective, much to Tony's feigned annoyance and accusations that the A.I. was cheating on Pepper. 

Eventually giving into the reality that no progress would be done today, Tony set off to tinker while T'Challa reviewed business proposals from interested countries, letting the chatter fill in the silence.

*

"I'd like to speak with her." Tony began, eyes trained on the gauntlet in his hands. "Once we have everything finalized, of course." 

"That can be arranged." T'Challa replied, treading carefully. "I actually believe she may have something of value to say as well. Her time in Wakanda has humbled her." 

"Seriously? How the hell did you do that?" 

"Classified." Okoye appeared like a mirage, starling both men. 

"Jesus!" Tony shouted. "You all need to wear bells." 

"I can arrange an order to be delivered, Boss." FRIDAY offered helpfully, except not. 

Okoye looked alarmingly interested and T'Challa dismissed her with a stern look. He did not need the Dora Milaje conspiring with FRIDAY, Shuri was bad enough as it was.

"We should have all the signatures within the next week or so." T'Challa directed the conversation back on track. "The timing works in my favor as well. I don't know how much longer I can tolerate them." 

Tony nodded in empathy. "Hang in there, Garfield." 

T'Challa wasn't surprised when his wallpaper had been changed to a photo of a rotund orange cat, hanging precariously off of a tree with those exact words Tony had uttered. 

*

T'Challa stormed into his study, still fuming from his confrontation with Rogers and Barton. He hoped Tony's conversation with Romanoff was less disastrous. Right on cue, his phone rang. 

"Tell me your experience was better than mine." T'Challa scowled into the receiver. "Shouldn't be hard given how infuriating these people are." 

"Ouch." Tony hissed. "Mine was actually not too bad, compared to our previous interactions." 

"Not exactly a ringing endorsement." 

They traded stories for a while, filling the time with sympathetic noises and sharp insights. Waiting for the inevitable. There were several possible outcomes associated with introducing Romanoff to the steadily destabilizing group; the chances of likelihood proportionate to the degree of destruction. T'Challa prepared copies of the amended Accords for their review if Romanoff managed to convince them to see reason. Zawavari had confidence that his wards would be able to contain Wanda's powers in case she lost control. Vision and his team were on standby to arrest the former Avengers should they try to escape following the confrontation. 

The former Avengers' stay in Wakanda was coming to an end. It was time for them to face the consequences of and accept responsibility for their actions.

** One. **

Natasha crossed Wakanda's borders without detection nor difficulty. She attributed her success to her skills, scoffing at the three second delay between the second and third patrolling team and the overgrown tree branch partially obscuring the camera. She graded their efforts as above average, more than capable at keeping out most trespassers, but not good enough to deter the Black Widow. She slinked into Wakanda with a self-satisfied smirk. 

That was the first clue. 

As she navigated through both the main streets and side alleys, Natasha felt the familiar prickling sensation that she was being watched. Keeping her gait and posture casual and playing the role of a curious family member of a visiting diplomat to perfection, she took in her surroundings with wide-eyed awe while she assessed the nature and whereabouts of her watcher. Years of experience informed her that the gaze was too clinical and sweeping to be human, most likely some sort of monitoring system for the influx of new faces to a country that had previously been inaccessible to the world. 

Natasha found the cleverly hidden lens among the reflective tiles of a mural depicting a fierce black panther in under five minutes with a well-deserved smugness. Deciding the surveillance was routine and her presence was overlooked, she weaved a complicated path to the palace. 

That was the second clue. 

Predictably, the palace was highly guarded. Natasha counted double the number of checkpoints along the walls, with six soldiers at each station. There were visible cameras as well as invisible ones, which she spotted after half an hour of careful study. Under normal circumstances, neither the guards nor surveillance would discourage her from achieving her goal of infiltrating the palace. However, it would not do her any good to corner T'Challa after what happened in Leipzig. 

Her best course of action was to announce herself immediately after setting foot on royal grounds and let her act of good faith, as well as her expertise, to speak for her. Warrior cultures appreciated excellence and notoriety – both of which she had in spades. The Black Widow was the most feared and skilled assassin in the world, a reputation Natasha held with certainty and pride. She kept up with Viking gods, super soldiers, and mystical beings without distancing herself to ranged attacks or donning a suit of armor. The Dora Milaje, the King's personal guards, would recognize her as an equal and grant her the opportunity to speak with T'Challa.

Natasha aimed at the hidden camera in the corner, readying her Widow's Bite to disrupt it the moment the third guard at the seventh checkpoint rotated his neck to relieve tension, a habit she had observed. She would have four seconds to propel herself over the walls from her vantage point, more than enough time. Simple. Easy. Effortless. 

That was the third clue. 

An unseen hand blocked the shot of electricity and a swift kick knocked Natasha to the ground. 

Instead of standing, Natasha remained in a defensible crouch and swept at the pair of feet landing next to her, only to miss at the last second when the other person pivoted midair and crashed into Natasha's shoulders with open palms in a harsh handstand then twisting into a backflip to land solidly a few feet away. 

Natasha rolled herself upright, firing off Widow's Bites as she charged. The electricity stuttered her opponent's movement and Natasha landed a flurry of punches before having to pull back to dodge a vicious elbow aimed at her throat. They repeated this dance – Natasha stealing close with Widow's Bites and landing as many hits as possible before retreating. It was intoxicating, a rush specific to fighting an admirable but ultimately lesser adversary. Belatedly, Natasha realized the fight had gone on too long. 

That was the fourth clue, but the first that Natasha caught. 

Adjusting the Widow's Bites to maximum power, she fired off another shot that landed solidly on her target's chest. Natasha winced inwardly at the crackling hiss of electricity, then grimaced outwardly when her target shook it off casually. 

"Okoye, I'm getting bored." A new voice called out. Natasha barely suppressed a flinch. She hadn't noticed anyone approaching. 

That was the fifth clue, and the second that Natasha caught. 

"That actually stung a little." Okoye chuckled, a melodious sound of ferocity, then rushed toward Natasha in a blur of motion. 

Panicked, for the first time in years, Natasha dumbly repeated the last action her body took. She fired off another shot that was ignored and another that never happened, then she was painfully knocked off her feet. Okoye subdued her with a flurry of brutal hits to her kidney as well as an uncompromising elbow at her windpipe. 

"I yield." Natasha rasped out and fleetingly considered reaching for her knives but knew she had been bested. One part of her berated herself for underestimating Wakanda while another cursed the tricky preventive measures designed to inflate her confidence and lessen her suspicion. A much smaller but far more obnoxious part of her snarled blame at Tony's ineffective weapon failing during a crucial fight, which Natasha acknowledged it with a shameful cringe as she was hauled unceremoniously to her feet. 

Okoye smirked. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Black Widow. We are the Dora Milaje." 

Natasha kept her head held high, accepted her defeat, and went willingly albeit petulantly.

*

Her cell was unassuming in its design. A door, a window, and four walls. A bed, a bath, and three meals. 

Each day, her instincts warred with her intellect. The desire to be free tempered by the knowledge of what awaited on the other side. Wakanda was an elaborate trap and Natasha had fallen into gracelessly. Even if she did escape this rudimentary prison, her captors lurked nearby and would enjoy the chance to defeat the Black Widow again. Her best plan was to stay, observe, and strategize. The best course of action for her was inaction yet she grew restless nonetheless. 

A week of silent guards delivering meals and clothes passed before she was moved to a different room for questioning. Natasha had tried to engage and enrage them, earning nothing more than a subtle smirk for her efforts. Under other circumstances, she would have considered any reaction a success and exploit it to her benefits, except it could very well be another trick. Natasha felt uncomfortably unsure and unpleasantly transparent. 

"What is your objective?" Okoye asked without preamble, sitting with casual ease across a metal table and pouring them both a glass of water. 

Natasha tilted her head, studying her interrogator. The location change could be a measure of security, a reminder of status, a display of goodwill, or all or none of the above. "To speak with T'Challa." 

Okoye hissed. 

"His Highness King T'Challa." Natasha corrected, trying to analyze Okoye's reaction and floundering. The hiss could be a warning, a challenge, an opening, or something else entirely. She hadn't felt so out of her depth since her first days in the Red Room. 

"What is your cause?" 

"To apologize." Natasha subtly angled her chin downward and minutely hunched her shoulders, hoping to convey remorseful sincerity. 

Okoye snorted. Natasha was returned to her cell.

*

"What is your cause?" 

"To locate the Avengers." 

Okoye narrowed her eyes. Natasha picked up a clue of her own, though she had no idea what it meant.

*

"What is your cause?" 

"To neutralize the Winter Soldier." 

Okoye hummed amusedly. Natasha glared.

*

"What is your cause?" 

"To see where we went wrong." 

Okoye shook her head. Natasha felt a sort of twitchy weariness from this particular combination of a variable number of days in between interrogations and the single repeated question with only one chance to answer.

*

"What is your cause?" 

"To see where I went wrong." 

Okoye nodded. Natasha felt a glimmer of hope that darkened when she was escorted out.

*

"What is your cause?" 

"To make sure my friends are okay." 

"Which ones?" 

"All of them?" Natasha hadn't meant for the upward inflection in her answer, but she was caught off guard – an occurrence more common these days than the years before combined – by the follow up inquiry. 

Okoye smiled, slow and savage. "Certainly not all, seeing as only a handful are seeking refuge in our country while the others remained in a far more visible and accessible location." 

_ I'm not the one that needs to watch their back. _

"Tony's recovery was on the news." Her throat felt dry, it was painful to force the words out. 

"So was the Raft prison break." Okoye countered. 

"Tony allows his emotions to dictate his actions, he wouldn't have been open to talk with me given how we parted." 

"Steve Rogers tore through civilians, cities and countries for his childhood friend yet you are willing to converse with him." Okoye was relentless in her quest to shred Natasha's reasoning. 

"He wasn't going to stop." She said hollowly. 

"You deferred to his judgment." 

It wasn't a question, though Natasha felt compelled to answer. "Yes. I shouldn't have, that's why I'm here." 

"Yet your presence here is evidence that you still defer to him, still  _trust_  him." 

Natasha jerked back, like an animal with a predator's teeth closing on its throat. 

"You seek to confirm their wellbeing over one that was injured grievously. You choose to trespass onto Wakandan soil instead of knocking on Stark Tower's doors. You wish to hear Steve Rogers' side before all others." Okoye pressed in for the kill. "Unfortunately, you won't get that chance." 

The threat of death was familiar territory, and Natasha felt almost comforted.  

"You are hereby pardoned and will be joining your  _friends_  within the hour. The only condition of your release is to have a conversation with Tony Stark." 

Natasha was thrown back into the unknown. She openly gaped as Okoye placed a phone the size of a brick, a relic from last century, in her hands before leaving the room. 

Then it rang.

*

"Say, you aren't using a flip phone, are you?" Tony's voice glided through the earpiece, amused and biting. 

Natasha quirked a genuine smile, relieved and desperate to bask in the familiar banter of a friendship lost. "No, Gordon Gekko is letting me borrow his." 

"Ouch!" He chuckled then quieted. 

"The encryption up and running again for ex-SHIELD operatives?" She asked bluntly when it became clear Tony wasn't going to make it easy, noting and filing away her assumption that she considered it Tony's job to manage this flow of conversation. 

Tony hummed in the affirmative. "Fixing is what I do." A pause. "Especially when people keep breaking things they have no business breaking." He rattled off a thorough list of where the Avengers had been over the past years, where they'd left behind wreckage and injuries in the pursuit of peace and justice. 

Natasha tightened her jaw to quiet the instinctive snap for Tony to stop being petty. 

"You're welcome, by the way." Tony said, either unaware of or unconcerned by her silence. 

"Thank you." She gritted out. "I'm sorry." 

"FRIDAY, did hell just freeze over?" 

"Negative, Boss. Scanning the skies for flying farm animals now." 

"See, you get the girl to apologize and then you give her a hard time. This is why you can't have nice things." She settled for a teasing tone, hoping to reset the conversation. 

"And here I thought I can't have nice things because I didn't have very nice coworkers." Tony's sneer was audible and Natasha recoiled from it. 

"I thought we were friends." 

"Funny, so did I." 

A beat of disquieting quiet. 

"I am sorry." Natasha tried again. "For everything." 

"How charmingly vague of you." Tony scoffed. "Try again, Romanoff." 

Natasha's temper flared. "Is soothing your ego the purpose of this call? Do I need to grovel to earn my freedom?" Immediately, she wished she could take her words back. She hadn't meant to snipe but nothing went the way she meant to lately. 

Another uncomfortable pause. 

"I shouldn't have said that." She inhaled, steeling herself. "I meant I'm sorry for everything that's happened between us, Tony. You have to understand that I was doing my job and you didn't make it easy. I had to question your actions because you obviously weren't, I was trying to help you. The Accords–" 

"Yeah, no." Tony interrupted. "You're not doing yourself or me any favors with this crap. Did you and Steve take the same ‘fake apology' class or did you teach it to him? You're sorry for  _what happened_ , try being sorry for  _what you did_." As angry as his words were, Tony's voice stayed surprisingly calm. A cold fury mixed with stony dismissal. "You betrayed me and you're trying to sell me that it was for  _my own good_  because I somehow  _brought it on myself_  because I'm  _difficult_? Bullshit." 

"Tony." Natasha felt her throat constrict with words that would not come, finally realizing that  _they can't go back_  both because of the shattered trust and because what they had wasn't worth retrieving. "I'm trying to apologize if you'll just let me." 

"Well, let's compromise, never let it be said that I can't." Tony sighed. "I'll accept your word vomit as an apology and you'll accept that I rejected it. Win win." 

"I fucked up." 

Silence again, but it seemed more inviting, or at least more interested, than the last. 

"I was compromised and a hypocrite. I saw you as an asset to manipulate and control. I never treated you as a friend because you weren't one." Natasha cleared her throat, relieved to find the tension drain away. "I'm not going to apologize again because I'm, well, awful at it." Tony's chuckle sounded like forgiveness even though she knew it to be anything but. "Instead, I will try to be a friend or at least a better coworker." 

"Try?" FRIDAY sounded eerily like Pepper at her most furious. 

Natasha closed her eyes and was startled when she felt tears trail down her cheeks with the movement. "I'm attempting honesty here, since we're both too realistic for the empty promises of absolutes." 

"Been there, done there." Tony muttered, likely more to himself than Natasha. "I'll take your offer under consideration." He said magnanimously with a hint of that familiar haughtiness. 

Relief tinged with the slightest affectionate annoyance coursed through her body. "Thank you." Natasha whispered. 

"Good luck." 

Natasha stared at the disconnected phone in her hands, replaying their conversation and resisting the habit to dissect it for exploitable weaknesses. She blinked and her world expanded, snapping out of the tunnel vision she'd been operating within since the Avengers came together in New York. Suddenly, she knew why T'Challa stipulated speaking with Tony as  _the_  requirement for her release. Natasha was compromised, undeniably and uselessly, and unable to carry out whatever function T'Challa hoped she'd serve when he unleashed her on the Avengers. 

A slow, satisfied grin stretched across her face as Natasha saw her surroundings with a shrewd clarity she hadn't known was missing.  _The Black Widow was back_.  
  
With a sort of feline grace, Natasha rose to greet Okoye as the door opened.  "How did their rescue attempt go?" 

"Poorly." Okoye smirked and cast a glance of impressed amusement at the other woman. "I see you are feeling more yourself." 

"Indeed." 

"I will escort you to them now." 

"Lead the way." Natasha fell into purposeful steps behind Okoye. The Black Widow was on a mission.

**Author's Note:**

> [dls-ao3.tumblr.com](https://dls-ao3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
